


Revolutionary All-Stars

by 1TruFangirl



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU, Baseball, Modern Era, Multi, highschool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7259248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1TruFangirl/pseuds/1TruFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton and the crew go to high school together in New York. Alexander, John, Lafayette and Hercules all share an apartment, and play on the school baseball team. They have friends and they have enemies. While stakes are high for the team to win the State Championship, romantic tensions are also growing. And Alexander has a secret that could get him kicked off the team, or, worse, lose his friends forever.<br/>*Not major Lams fluff, although they do appear quite prominently in the story. Just don't expect this to be a Lams book. it's more about the high school/baseball AU*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revolutionary All-Stars

John Laurens’ fingers stumbled over cupboard handles, blindly searching for a mug. The task shouldn’t have been hard, except for his reluctance to open his eyes in the morning, which left him to navigate the kitchen solely by memory. The mugs shouldn’t have been that difficult to find. John’s roommate, Alexander, was a neat-freak, and the other guys sharing the apartment knew better than to rearrange the kitchen, or any other room for that matter. And of course they weren’t even allowed into Alexander’s makeshift “library”.

Someone’s hand slid into his back pocket, causing him to jump slightly in surprise. He hadn’t heard anyone come in.

“Check the dishwasher, John,” Alexander whispered in his ear, running his other hand down John’s side, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Jesus, Alex, don’t surprise me,” said John, pushing Alexander’s hand away. He was used the flirty behavior from his roommate, and knew it was purely friendly, but that didn’t stop the pleasant, gentle fluttering sensation John felt in the pit of his stomach at Alexander’s touch. He turned around in the tight space and reached over to grab his favorite turtle mug from the dishwasher. Alexander whistled.

“Nice ass, John.”

“Shut up.”

John looked up at the sound of footsteps and squeaking floorboards, turning the see who was coming. Gilbert Lafayette emerged from the hallway, looking disheveled, his hair flattened down on one side and falling into his face. He stretched and yawned. He was wearing a striped robe over his pajamas that stopped John briefly, wondering where Lafayette had received such an— admittedly silken-looking— monstrosity. It was probably a gift from his girlfriend, Adrienne, in France.

“Laf, Alex is harassing me.”

“Would you like me to help him?” asked Lafayette, his French accent thicker than normal in his zombie-like haze. John rolled his eyes, but no one saw because he had turned away to grab the jug of milk from the fridge. 

 

John was the only member in their little group who disliked coffee, and was rewarded for it with endless teasing, Christmas presents of hot chocolate and, from Alexander, when he was feeling particularly amused by John’s disgust for the drink, tea. Alexander survived off of coffee and believed that tea was meant for old women and posh British families, both groups he seemed to associate with a strong dislike of coffee, and hence, John was added to the mix, though he happened to know for a fact that not all old ladies were prone to disliking coffee, as, as a child in South Carolina, he had had a grandmother who would go through five or six cups a day.

John reached into the cupboard above his head and pulled down his favorite hot chocolate, a discovery courtesy of Lafayette who had brought it back from a holiday trip in Paris. He added several generous teaspoons to his milk, swirled the mixture thoroughly and deposited it into the microwave. Alexander leaned over John’s shoulder and plucked the metal spoon from the mug before it went through the door.

“Disaster of the day, prevented,” Alexander said, sticking the spoon in his mouth and then tossing it into the sink.

“I was going to use that again,” John muttered, thinking Alexander wouldn’t hear him, but Alexander leaned into John’s shoulder and whispered with a hint of a sardonic tone, “Get a new one.” Alexander was so close his lips brushed John’s ear, and he pushed Alexander in the chest, away and out of the little kitchen, Alexander stumbled dramatically backwards into Lafayette, and John set the microwave while he was distracted.

“Hey, where’s Herc? We’ve got baseball in an hour. You guys realize this is the last chance we have of winning the Championship before we graduate?” said John, finally looking away from his hot chocolate. As if on que a loud snorting sound, vaguely resembling the call of a dying walrus issued from the back room at the end of the hall. Hercules Mulligan was the last of the four roommates, the oldest, and arguable the loudest.

“I’ll go get him,” Lafayette muttered, yawning again. “Make me some coffee, Alex.” Alexander, who had popped himself onto the counter and was sitting beside the coffee maker, nodded to Lafayette, who turned and disappeared down the hallway. The microwave beeped just as Hercules’ snoring was cut off suddenly by a thump and a surprised shout.

“Did Laf roll him off the bed again?” asked Alexander, stealing John’s mug and taking a large sip of his steaming hot chocolate. He quickly stuffed the mug back into John’s hands, jumping off the counter and spitting the mouthful into the sink, gasping and spluttering. “Jesus, John, that’s hot,” he coughed

“I’m not the one who stole the mug without warning. You deserved it.” John told him, opening the silverware drawer and grabbing a new spoon, stirring it through his hot chocolate several times before tossing it at Alexander. It hit him in the chest and clattered onto the floor. Alexander opened his mouth, looking like he was going to retaliate, but stopped. His coffee was done. John scoffed. Perhaps in the entire world, there was one thing that could make Alexander Hamilton shut up: coffee. If John could have that ability, well, maybe Alexander wouldn’t have ended up with a suspension from the baseball team last year and they might have won. John could hardly be bitter about it. It was in Alexander’s nature to be talkative and of course stubborn. Still, things might have been different if Alex could have played the rest of the season.

Lafayette came back into the living space with Hercules in tow, his pajama shirt was buttoned up unevenly and one of his pant legs was pushed up to the knee. He looked grumpy.

“Roll off on the wrong side of the bed, Herc?” Alexander asked casually, completely straight-faced. John couldn’t help sniggering into his cup. Hercules glared at Lafayette.

“I want toast,” he said. John reached to the counter behind him, and tossed the loaf of bread at Hercules. He wasn’t as asleep as he seemed. He snatched the bread and pulled it out of the air before it hit him in the face, and squeezed his way into the kitchen forcing John and Alexander up against the counter as he did so. In passing, he flicked a finger at the bottom of each of their cups as they drank. Alexander pulled his mug away, and Hercules flicked empty air, but John wasn’t fast enough. A wave of hot liquid splashed over his nose and down his chin.

“Shit,” said John, hot chocolate dripping onto his shirt. Alexander wasn’t even trying to muffle his laughter. “Damnit, Hercules. I’m gonna go change.” He set his hot chocolate on the counter and began unbuttoning his shirt as he headed down the hallway. 

Their apartment had two bedrooms. One that Hercules and Lafayette shared, and one for Alexander and John. The room they slept in had been an office when Hercules had first come to the three other boys and asked if they would move in and help pay the rent at the beginning of the summer, so they’d moved out an old wooden desk and replaced it with a small metal framed bed which Alexander had immediately claimed, leaving John to a possibly-punctured air mattress.

John dumped his shirt in his bed and pulled out his duffle bag and baseball uniform. He quickly pulled on the jersey, pants, socks and cleats, stuffed the things he had pulled out of his bag to reach his uniform back into the duffle, zipped it shut, slung it over his shoulder and walked back out into the living room. He dumped his duffle at the door, snatched up his hot chocolate and plopped himself down at the dining table, watching as Alexander chugged the second half of his coffee and vanished down the hallway to go change as well.

In twenty minutes, the group were all in their uniforms and ready to leave. John stuffed a bagel in his mouth, shouldered his bag and tossed Hercules the keys to their partially shared vehicle. Technically it belong to John, having been a gift from his father for his sixteenth birthday, but Hercules used it the most, as he was to only one who had to drive to work. 

The walk to school, meanwhile, was not hard. It was twenty minutes, but driving cut the travel time to a quarter that, and they had to carry their baseball gear, so the majority thought that driving was a great idea. The exception was Lafayette, who thought the sunshine was nice, and the exercise was refreshing. John refrained from pointing out that they were heading to baseball practice, where they would exercise for roughly the next four hours. Alexander called shotgun.

They pulled up to the baseball field, much of the team was already there, lounging on the field or in the bleachers. John took a deep breath. It was great to be back on the field for the first practice of the season. This year was the year. This would be the year the team won the State Championship.

They seemed to have arrived right on time. As they dropped their bags on the bleachers, the coach walked onto the field. He was an imposing figure, large and sturdy, but, while it wasn’t wise to get on his bad side, he was a fairly nice guy and a great baseball coach. He had been coaching the team for eight years, and John had known him since joining the team in his freshman year.

“Before we begin,” Coach Washington said, gathering the team on the bleachers. “I would like to announce that this will be my last year as coach for this team. I’m retiring to spend some more time with my family.” There were several protesting shouts, and a mutter of “good riddance” from John’s left. Most of the kids on the team liked Coach Washington, but there was a select few who thought his methods were less than satisfactory. The one who had made the comment was Charles Lee, a man John did not particularly like. Alexander stood up and said, “You can’t leave Washington. You’re a great coach!” Lafayette pulled Alexander back onto the bench by his sleeve, muttering, “You’re not even going to be on the team next year.”

John himself felt a pang in his chest that Washington was leaving, but Lafayette was right. They wouldn’t be on the team next year, they had to say goodbye anyway.

“You never know,” Alexander whispered back heatedly. “I could fail all my classes this year and have to come back.”

“We all know you’re not going to fail any classes,” John whispered, leaning over Lafayette so Alexander could hear him. Washington coughed lightly, eyeing them intently. John sat back in his own seat.

“Gentlemen, this year we are going to work harder. We have a winning team, and a chance at snagging the Championship this year. Does anyone know what are problem is?” Washington didn’t wait for an answer. “Teamwork!” John took a sip of water from his water bottle. “That is why this year we are going to have some team building activity days. Twice a month, starting next week. This will go on until all of you can work together and cooperate with each other.” John choked, spitting water over his friends’ laps. “Is there a problem mister Laurens?” asked Washington as Hercules thumped him on the back.

“Teambuilding?”

“Teambuilding. You are going to learn to get along with your teammates.” John looked over at some of his teammates. Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and Charles Lee were all rude asses. And there was James Reynolds who was a bully and thought he knew how to do everyone’s job better than they did. And of course there was John Adams. John didn’t even know where to get started with him. He turned to Alexander.

“I do not think a metal spoon in the microwave was the disaster of the day,” said Lafayette. John nodded.

“This is going to be a long season,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a little segment/preview. It's my first Hamilton fanfic so please have an open mind.... Hey, if you like it let me know and I'll write some more, if not... well that tells me something about my writing doesn't is? ;D. Regardless, I'd love to know what you think so please comment.


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